Mr. Lincoln, We Remember

🎻 Music Credit: “The Peterson House and Finale” by John Williams
From the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack to Lincoln (2012)
Performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra & Chorus

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Mr. Lincoln,

I’m standing here at your memorial, the same place I’ve come to many times over the years when the weight felt too heavy. The marble is cold beneath my shoes. The columns rise around me like silent sentinels. And there you sit — larger than life, carved in stone, staring out over a nation that sometimes feels like it has forgotten the promise you gave us.

I’ve carried your words with me since I was a boy — not just one, but many. But it wasn’t until I wore the uniform that these words truly came alive and took on new meaning:

“To care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow, and his orphan.”

You spoke those words in 1865, when the wounds of war were still fresh and the bodies of the fallen were still being counted. You meant every syllable. And for a time, this country tried to live up to them.

But somewhere along the way, we lost our way.

I’ve seen what happened to your promise, sir. I’ve lived it.

I’ve waited months for appointments that never came. I’ve been told I was “too young” for surgery while civilian doctors said I should have had it years ago. I’ve filed Congressional inquiries that came back blaming me for noticing how broken the system had become. I’ve watched good men and women — brothers and sisters who gave everything for this country — give up on the VA and, in some cases, give up on life itself.

And I almost became one of them.

There were nights when the darkness felt endless. Days when the same system that was supposed to heal me pushed me closer to the edge than I ever thought possible. I carried Complex PTSD from my childhood, my time in uniform, and the years since I came home. And the very place I was told to go for help nearly broke me completely.

But I didn’t fall.

Not because the VA saved me — but because I refused to let your promise die on my watch.

I stayed in the fight.

Not just for myself, but for every veteran who still believes this country owes them more than a form letter and another prescription. For the nurses who still show up every single day with compassion in their eyes, even when the system fails them too. For the ones who haven’t given up yet — the ones who are still waiting, still hoping, still fighting.

Mr. Lincoln, I want you to know something:

We remember.

We remember what you asked of us. We remember the debt this nation owes to those who served. We remember the men and women who never made it home, and the ones who did but came back broken. And even though the system has failed too many of us, there are still those of us who refuse to let your promise become just another plaque on a wall.

This book is my way of keeping that promise alive.

I wrote it because I had to. Because too many veterans have already walked away. Because too many have lost hope. And because I believe — with everything I have — that the VA can still become the institution you envisioned.

I will not give up on the VA.

I will not give up on my brothers and sisters.

And I will never forget what you asked of this country.

Because if we forget, then what was the point of any of it?

The fight isn’t over.

It’s only just beginning.